


A Bus Ride Away

by thecrisspointssystem



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: DFAB reader, F/M, GN Reader, Gen, Oral Sex, but i already posted this on tumblr so oh well, it's alluded to being a DFAB reader but not necessarily, the more i look at this the more i want to change
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-26 00:46:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4983355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecrisspointssystem/pseuds/thecrisspointssystem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Senior year is nearly over, but with the absence of Stanley Pines, you start to ask questions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Bus Ride Away

Senior spring is a unique experience in anybody’s academic trail. It was typically seen as the most stressful semester for students, with decision letters arriving in the mail, prom season, and having to potentially say goodbye to the comfort of your hometown. It was stressful for anybody.

And the last month of high school was harder on Stanford Pines than he’d care to admit.

You knew the Pines twins practically since birth. You wouldn’t really call them your closest friends, since you had your own circles that you would hang with, but you might have been one of their only friends besides each other. They had their own pet project, which they would only refer to as the Stan-O-War in public, that they would dedicate a large portion of their free time and money on. It’s not like they weren’t known. They definitely weren’t popular, but everybody knew who they were. Ford was famous not only for his six fingers, but for making everyone else in your classes look bad. Teachers constantly praised him publicly for his outstandingly high marks and impressive projects. Even though you silently tried to go toe to toe with him academically, he stumped you. Stanley stayed in his own lane academically, only attempting when his chances of passing the grade was at stake. He spent more of his time at school attempting dumb pranks on other students and teachers. The unofficial class clown and official class genius were still nice people, and you were nice back. So when you walked into school one day, and Stanley wasn’t there, you were worried.

Stanford explained that his brother probably ditched on his own time.

He wouldn’t give any more information than that.

The next day his brother wasn’t there. And the day after that. And the day after that. He made excuses, ignoring your questions, and shushed you, telling you to pay attention to the lecture. There…had to be something up. You heard something about representatives from West Coast Tech coming during the week of the Science Fair. Word was they were there for Ford, but he never said anything about getting into the school.

After Stanley’s seventh absence, you pulled Ford to the side. You both had the same lunch period, and you knew he was going to go eat lunch alone for the seventh day in a row, so he had no excuse to not allow you to sit with him. When you followed him to his table, he sat down, avoiding eye contact, and began to eat his sandwich in silence. You hoped he would speak first, but after several minutes of silence, you pulled out your own lunch and began to eat. You both sat in silence for another several minutes until you loudly groaned in frustration. He winced, tightening his grip on his sandwich, and continued to avoid your eyes.

“What’s the matter, Stanford?” you asked, putting your food down.

“What makes you think anything’s a matter?” he stuttered out, still not making eye contact.

“Where’s Stanley?” you asked. He winced again.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. This answer was even worse than you expected.

“What does that even mean?”

“It’s a pretty straightforward response,” he said, kneading the back of his neck.

“Ford, please don’t play games with me. I’m really worried about him,” you said, concern in your voice. You reached out your hand to grab his, only to have him pull it away.

“I…” he started, only to be cut off by the bell. He let out a sigh of relief, grabbing his books and hastily standing up. “I have to go to class.” He left you with his trash and more confused than before.

After school you tried to find him. When you saw him on the opposite side of the hall, you tried to flag him down, only for him to spot you halfway through and to run the opposite direction. Once you were at the end of the hallway, at the entrance of the school, he was gone. You let out a disappointed sigh.

“Maybe tomorrow,” you breathed out, walking towards your bike and riding home.

The next day he ignored you. You typically sat in the seat behind him, but when you tried to sit there, your teacher asked you if you could move to another seat. When you asked why, he said that another student demanded it. Damn him, you thought to yourself, finding yourself in the back of the class. For the rest of the class day, you stared angrily at the back of his head. At one point, he tried to glance back at you, only to be met with your stubborn gaze. He quickly turned back to the blackboard.

The day after that, when you tried to confront him in the cafeteria again, he was nowhere to be found. You decided to find him at the family business.

The Pines Family Pawn Shop was a typical Jersey styled pawn shop. It was better stocked in watches, crow bars, and ice picks than records and instruments. You never visited it to find anything that tickled your fancy, but your parents took you a couple of times before to grab some spare tools.

When you walked through the front door, you were greeted the ring of the bell on the door and by the croaky voice of Filbrick Pines. His voice was monotonous, and despite his brightly colored clothing, he was stern and serious. Not easily impressed, they said.

“What are you lookin’ for today?” he asked, his face buried behind the daily paper. You feigned interest in your surrounding objects, looking at the price tags, and then looked over at him to answer.

“Actually, I’m not here to buy anything, Mr. Pines. I was wondering if Stanford was home. I have a question about our homework,” you lied. He blew air out of his nose.

“Yeah, he’s in the-his room. Down the hall, on the left,” he said, letting you behind the “Employees Only” door to enter his home. You thanked him and proceeded to walk down the hall. The Pines home was as shabby as the rest of the town. You didn’t know what to expect from the home of a genius. Their parents still had to work to make ends meet, like any citizens of an industrial town like this. The wallpaper was peeling off of the walls, the rug has stains you didn’t care the origin of, and some sockets were loose. When you finally reached Ford’s room (which was identifiable as his by a sign with the outline of his hand with his name written out in cursive on top of it, as well as a matching one for Stanley in print) you lightly knocked. A few moments later, you were finally met with the chocolate brown eyes of Stanford Pines. This was the first time you’ve held eye contact with him in days, and he slammed the door in your face once he registered that it was you.

You stood still for a few moments, shocked that he would actually slam a door in your face. Now you were mad. You made an attempt to reach out to him, and you were only met with disappointment. A large portion of you wanted to storm out of the Pines house in a huff, but you took a minute to cool off, clenching your fists, feeling your nails dig into the smooth skin of your palms. You squeezed your eyes shut, sighed loudly, and lightly rapped your knuckles on the door again.

“Go away!”

“GOD DAMN IT!” you yelled as you stormed into the bedroom, slamming the door behind you. That…shouldn’t have been your reaction. Stanford was stunned at your reaction, dropping his book, and staring back at you with wide eyes. You were sure your face was flushed either out of your frustration or your newfound embarrassment. You only stared back at Stanford until he finally spoke up.

“Why are you in my room?” he asked, not breaking eye contact. You started to loosen up and lowered your arms, not realizing they were raised. Wait, is he really asking me this?

You now rolled your eyes, breaking eye contact for the first time since you barged in, and started to observe the room. This was the room you expected for two teenage boys, if not more childish. Understandably, laundry decorated the floor, masks and toys from the local magic store were thrown about and a flimsy blanket fort was in the corner of the room. Fort Stan, it was labeled. A paper sign identical to the one on the door was hanging on the wall with the twins’ handprints. Cute, you thought, and turned to look back at Ford. His ears were red.

“Sorry it’s a mess,” he apologized, reaching down to pick up the book he dropped when you walked in.

“No, no, it’s fine,” you said, reaching down to help him. His glasses fell down his nose. You pushed them back for him. His blush grew.

He cleared his throat. “You didn’t answer me.” Your jaw dropped slightly, you squinted your eyes and pursed your lips at him. I can’t explode on him again, you thought, biting your lip.

“I don’t understand how you can even say that to me, Ford,” you said as calmly as possible, staring down at him. He was sitting on his own bed, which was currently strewn with books.

“What do you mean?” he asked innocently, trying to divert blame. What a liar.

“Ford, you know I’m concerned about Stanley, and now I’m worried about you. What’s going on?” you asked. With the first mention of Stanley, you realized that he wasn’t there. His bed was unmade, lived in, but unoccupied.

“I-I-I-I,” he stammered out, his eyes wide and full of emotion. “Don’t say his name.”

“What?”

“I said,” he enunciated each word clearly for you, “don’t say his name.” You were confused as hell. These brothers were closer than any duo could ever be. After years of merciless teasing, they used each other as a source of comfort and support. It was visible to the average joe that they were closer than most siblings.

“Ford, what in the hell is going on?” you asked, casting aside his books and taking a seat next to him. You reached out for his hand again, this time less forcefully than you did in the cafeteria. He didn’t retreat, he just…sat there. You’ve never seen him like this. He’s always been the quiet twin compared to his boastful brother, but he’s alway been responsive.

“I…I don’t know. You’re going to get mad at me.” He looked up at you with pleading eyes, asking for forgiveness before you even knew of a sin.

“I won’t get mad at you, Ford. I’ve been trying to talk to you for so long because I’m concerned and because I care. I’m not going to get mad at you,” you squeezed his hand as you said this.

“I’m going to have to ask you to promise that,” Ford said, and began his tale. He told you all about the West Coast Tech representatives and how he was rejected on the spot, without an opportunity to redeem himself, leaving him with Backupsmore as his only solid option. He complained about how the school produced second rate students and how he was now destined for a life of failure and disappointment. You neglected to tell him that you were considering the school. Well, it was Backupsmore or Schuyler U, which was a liberal arts college in the same county as Backupsmore. The point for you was to just leave home while he expected a top notch education followed by a top notch life. As he talked, you listened, giving the appropriate responses to his tale.

“So, why do you think the Perpetual Motion Machine stopped working?” you asked, now laying across his bed on your stomach. His face, which before was easily readable as miffed was now indescribable. It looked as if he wanted to respond in anger, but was hit by remorse.

He then told you his side of events, though vaguely. How he found a bag of toffee peanuts at the site, how he came home to confront his brother and how it all escalated from there. His brother and best friend was then kicked out of their home. He was unclear with the details, telling you that his father kicked Stanley out and that he didn’t know of anything after that. He didn’t explain anymore. When you asked if he had any say on it, he stayed silent, so you didn’t press. You kept to your word of not getting mad at him, unsure if you should get mad at him. He didn’t kick his brother out himself, but he didn’t stop his father from kicking Stanley out. His being silent about having a say in it insinuated that he was silent at the time it happened as well. Whether he encouraged his father through his silence or was absent all together was unclear to you.

You couldn’t turn your back on your friend, though. His only friend in the world was thrown out of his life. After a few moments of silence, you spoke up again, unsure if he was ever going to speak first.

“Do you know where he could be?” you asked, reaching out for his arm again. And that’s when he started to cry. You retreated, afraid that you triggered it, but you then realized that this was probably the first time he’s had a chance to cry about this. Filbrick Pines’ “there’s no crying in baseball” attitude probably prevented his children from expressing their emotions often or properly, which was now evident in his waterworks. You shifted yourself on his bed so that you were now next to him and reached out to hug him. He complied, allowing the contact, and just wept. Was he crying for Stanley or for his missed opportunities? He had to miss his brother, but he had only spoken of him with resentful words. He tucked his chin under the nape of your neck, allowing you to do the same. You rubbed his back with the palm of your hand, whispering soothing words into his ear. After a few minutes of him just crying, you continued to hold him. You felt his heartbeat against yours. His breathing was hitched and hot against your neck. This strangely intimate moment was cut short when he pulled himself from you. His face was pink and his glasses were stained with tears. He cleared his throat.

“I’m sorry for, you know,” he said, rubbing his neck nervously. You pulled his glasses off of his face and reached for the cleaning wipe on his nightstand. His face grew pinker than before.

“You don’t have to feel sorry for crying, Ford. It’s natural to express how you feel,” you said, placing them on his face again. His ears were hot. “And it seems like you needed to express how you feel.” He snorted.

“I never really considered it,” he said, followed by a long sigh. You looked at your watch. Supper time was coming up soon and your parents would be expecting you. You looked up to see he had the same realization.

“I should get going,” you said, pulling your hand from his, not realizing you were even holding it. He nodded understandingly. He stood up and held out a hand for you. You took it, smiling at his gesture. He walked you out of the house, through the shop and to your bike. “Thanks for speaking up, Ford.” You snapped on your helmet, and sat on the seat, leaning it on its side to talk to him. He looked taken aback.

“What? No, thank you for reaching out to me. I needed that,” he said with a small smile. You smiled back.

“Will you be alright?”

“Don’t worry about me.”

You rolled your eyes. “As if that could ever happen,” you said, peddling away. “I’ll see you tomorrow!” You waved back. You didn’t see his small wave in return.

When you saw Ford at school the next day, he didn’t ignore you like the day before. When you smiled and waved at him, his face was flushed. Weird. Maybe he was embarrassed about crying or because of the mess. He allowed you into his personal space starting today, letting you eat with him, study with him, do homework with him. Your previously distant friend was now allowing you into his world. You were unsure if you wanted to spend time with him out of pity at first, but you soon realized how much you enjoyed being with him. He was simply good company. He was a horrible study companion, considering he understood every concept right off the bat, leaving you in the dust, but he was a great friend to eat lunch with. You’d catch him up with your own current events while he hesitantly told you about his childhood escapades with Stanley. He talked about Stanley as a foreign figure at times, almost as if he was remembering a historical figure. He was so factual in his storytelling that it seemed like he was forgetting that they were brothers.

The weeks flew by. With only a week left of school, he told you his decision for college. Backupsmore it is. He said he would be starting school with the summer semester. To get ahead, he explained. There were only so many ways to stand out at a second rate school. Might as well do it in half the time. He told you about his heavy workload. Of course this nerd wanted to stack work on work. You told him about how you were considering Backupsmore, but decided on Schuyler U. It was the liberal arts school you were looking for. It has the major you want in the mid sized city environment you need. He sighed, saying he wish he could go anywhere, but Backupsmore. It’s only a bus ride away, you thought to yourself.

“Well, I guess applying to more than two schools has its perks,” you said, tapping your pencil to your notebook. He rolled his eyes, buying his nose back into his book. You smirked as you noticed his red ears.

Graduation came and went. You went out to dinner with your family and had a stack of presents to write thank you notes for. Your mother cried and your father ruffled your hair. You took a group shot with your friends, pulling Ford into the picture last minute. You saw Ma Pines crying. God, how she must be feeling today.

Ford only had two weeks of summer left before he would be shipped off to Backupsmore. You both spent a majority of that time together. You’d go to the beach, or the arcade, maybe even the movies if you could afford it. Some days you’d sit at home with him, swapping book suggestions. You’d love to watch him brighten up as he explained his favorite fantasy novels. You weren’t a huge fan of the genre, more interested in adventures and classics.

“Promise me you’ll read Lord of the Rings!” Ford said, handing you the book. You smiled, holding back the tickle in your throat that was sure to trigger tears.

“When have I ever broken a promise?” you said, holding the book to your chest. He smiled, oblivious to the possibility of you breaking down over this gesture, and continued to ramble about another book series. It was almost laughable. He obviously had to enjoy your presence, but a small insecure part of you felt like he only kept you around to fill the void of Stanley. That’s not necessarily why you stayed. You liked Ford and wanted him to have a friend in these last days. You liked him. You realized for sure now that it wasn’t a pity thing and it never would be. He’s always been your friend, but now it felt…different. You felt like you needed to be around him. Maybe it was for your own comfort.

“What are you doing for your last weekend home?” you asked, placing the book in your bag. You interrupted him as he rambled, but he didn’t mind.

“I didn’t really have plans. I…I just assumed we’d hang out,” he said, his face tinged pink.

“Duh doy,” you said in an over dramatic, comical voice. He laughed.

“Ma was gonna cook a big meal for the last night home. Yo-you can come, if you like,” he said, rubbing his neck.

“I’d love that,” you smiled. His ears were red.

His ears were always red.

Ma Pines whipped up all of Stanford’s favorites. Meatloaf and gravy, mashed potatoes, broccoli and green beans, and, of course, chocolate cake for dessert. She double stuffed your plate, asking you questions about your family, and you answered the sufficient amount until Stanford asked his ma to stop being so nosy.

“What’s so wrong about me wanting to know more about your friend, Stanford? They’re here all the time. I might as well know who’s trying to steal my baby from me,” she teased. Again with the red ears.

After dinner, you both excused yourselves to go take a walk outside. The sun was just starting to set.

You both ended up on the roof of the pawn shop, overlooking the town. Glass Shard Beach was remarkably unremarkable. It was simply a dump, and you were glad that tomorrow would be Ford’s chance to rise up…even if it was to a new dump. The twins placed a couch on the roof at one point, such is where you were currently seated. You sat next to Ford, his arm somehow finding itself around you, and your head rested on his shoulder.

Tonight was a nice dinner, but he was unnaturally quiet, even for himself. You learned not to press him, but spoke up anyway, always being the first to speak.

“So I got you a present,” you started. “I went downtown to get it… Doing anything tonight?”

“Well, I’m walking you home and then I’m probably just gonna go back to cleaning up.”

“You’re done for today,” you said, reaching for your bag to grab the bottle of champagne you smuggled for him.

“No way,” he interjected. “I still have to pack my-”

“‘Cause we’ve got a date.”

“Okay,” he cut in. You smiled cockily at him as his ears grew red. He froze.

“You were joking, weren’t you?” he asked, scrunching up his face in embarrassment, trying to make himself look smaller.

“No,” you answered, handing him the bottle. His eyes grew. “Before you board that plane, I thought we’d celebrate.”

“Damn, it’s all sweaty and everything! Wait, what do you mean no?” he asked, placing the bottle down next to the couch.

“Ford, always focussing on the details,” you teased. He continued to give you the same dopey look until continued the pattern of doing every first in the relationship, and leaned up, cupping his face as you brought his lips to your level. He was stiff at first, confused, but soon fell into the kiss. It lasted for a few moments until he pulled apart, more confused than before.

“Wait, you-you,” he stammered, his ears red. “You like me?” He asked. You smiled at first, finding his confusion cute, but his confused gaze continued and your eyes went wide.

“Am…am I misreading this?” you asked, jumping to the other side of the couch.

“No!” He shouted, reaching out to grip your shoulders. “No! Not at all. I’m just…surprised you’d be interested in me at all…” He let his hand fall, wincing, ashamed of his reaction to you. He smacked his palm to his face. “God, I had to ruin it!” His face was all scrunched up.

“Ford, it’s alright!” You said, pulling his hand from his face, drawing circles on it. He started to loosen up a bit. “Maybe I was a bit too forward too fast. I’m sorry,” you said, continuing with the circles.

“Don’t be sorry,” he said, taking your hands in his. “I…I should learn how to read people better.” You smiled.

“Well, I’ll make this very clear,” you said, still grasping his hands. “Can I,” you scooted forward so you were by his side again, “kiss you?” You were side by side, with both of your foreheads pressed together. His mouth was inches apart now, his hot breathe mixing with yours. His large aquiline nose was pressed against yours. When he whispered his breathy yes, you tilted your head for the kiss. He wasn’t the best kisser you’d encountered, but he wasn’t the worst. He needs more practice and now you regret not ever giving him more practice. You pulled your hands from his, now draping them around his neck, pulling him closer to your chest. He wasn’t very toned, as most people who spend their days inside studying weren’t. His chest was still broad and strong against yours. You ran a hand through his messy hair while the other explored his back. His hands were…more hesitant. Mostly because they had no idea what to do. You felt that they were inching towards you, but unsure of where to go. You grabbed one, placing it on your hip. He found it himself to place the other on your other hip. You smiled as he learned to explore the curve of your waste, the small of your back, the softness of your hair. He pulled away instantly.

“Don’t you wanna…do something?” he asked.

“What?” you asked. What does he even mean sometimes. He squeezed his eyes shut.

“You know, like, be on a real date? Isn’t this a lot to do on a first date?”

“We just had dinner, Ford. You’re leaving tomorrow. Let’s not waste moonlight,” you said, leaning forward to kiss again. He gave in, but pulled away quickly.

“Yeah, but isn’t this too fast?” he asked you, rubbing his neck.

“Are you uncomfortable, Ford?” you asked, pulling yourself from him again. His eyes grew wide once again.

“No! I’m just worried about you! I don’t wanna do something too quick,” he said, reaching for you again.

“I’ll let you know when I’m uncomfortable, Ford, and you’re going to tell me if you’re uncomfortable, right?” you asked and he nodded, agreeing.

“Here,” you started, pulling his arm off of you. “Is it okay if I do this?” You asked as you stood up and straddled his lap. He gulped, nodding approvingly. You smiled as you took the lead again, craning your neck to kiss him again, letting your hands run loose through his floppy hair. He grabbed a hold of your hips again, tracing your waistline and ran his hands up your back, stopping just before your rib cage. You smiled against his lips.

“You don’t have to stop there, Ford,” you said as you pulled your lips from his. His glasses were foggy and askew and his hair was messier than ever.

“I-I don’t know what you mean,” he stammered out. You untucked your shirt, allowing him access. His face was absolutely flushed. “I…I don’t know about that yet,” he said, turning his face from yours. You smiled, nodding understandably, and started to retuck your shirt. He stopped you. “I still would like the option,” he whispered out. You snorted and he chuckled along. You still sat straddling him, his face flushed. The hair on your neck stood up from the chill of the summer breeze. He sat staring at you, never sure how to make the first move. You shifted yourself on his lap, making yourself comfortable, rolling your hips (intentionally, but you wouldn’t let him know that), and felt the now fully hard member of Stanford Pines. He gasped out your name, turning his face from yours.

“Do you not like that?” you asked him, bucking your hips again. He groaned, throwing his head back and squeezed his eyes. After a few moments of sitting there, he looked down to see you giving him your most innocent look. He smiled devilishly.

“Please don’t do that unless you’re going to follow through,” he dared. Finally, some initiative.

“Don’t test me,” you responded, sliding yourself off of his lap so that you were now kneeling in front of him. His eyes widened hopefully, his lips forming an “O” as if he was going to start talking. You stopped him before he could protest.

“Are you uncomfortable?” He shook his head. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No, but isn’t this a bit much?” he asked as you started to rub his clothed crotch. He groaned again. Man, he’s got it bad, you thought.

“Stop me if you’re uncomfortable, Ford. Are you uncomfortable?” you repeated, still petting his crotch. He shook his head. You looked around the rooftop to make sure you were both still alone. The coast was clear. “Then let me do my job,” you said as you started to unzip his pants for him. He shimmied himself slightly to allow you to pull them down so that they were now around his ankles. You smirked at his erect member and how obvious it was under his tighty whities. You looked up to see his unsure eyes. You figured that this was his first time with anything of this sort.

“Stop me if you’re uncomfortable, okay?” you reminded him as you started to tug on his tighty whities so that they would meet his pants around his ankles. It was…not was you expected. This wasn’t your first time giving a blowjob, but this was the first time with a member this girthy. You’d only ever done this with one other guy and he was definitely more confident than Ford is right now. You smiled sweetly up at him, trying to make him as comfortable as possible. His face was now in a perpetual blush. You steadied yourself in front of him, lightly grabbing onto his already slick member. You began to pepper it with light kisses starting at the tip. Once you got to the base, you stopped, looking up at him to assure that you had his approval to continue. His eyes were tightly shut closed, and they fluttered open as you stopped, giving you a questioning to look as to why you’d stop. Okay, he wants you to continue. You licked from his base to the head, his moans escaping and louder than you expected.

“Shh, don’t wake the city,” you reminded him between licks. He nodded fervently, throwing his head back with his hands gripping at the seat of the couch. You took note of this, laughing to yourself. He looked as if he was about to pop a vein. Your hand ran up and down the rigid cock as your tongue focused on the head. His moans were gulped down, the only thing coming out of him was hitched breathe and small groans. He finds it in himself to grab your head, though he doesn’t know whether to to pull or push. He yanks your hair a little too forcefully, which elicits a yelp from you for the first time this night. He panics, thinking he had hurt you, but you signal that you enjoyed it by taking him into your mouth once again. He groans unabashedly at a decibel that you’re sure will warrant questions from neighbors later. You shush him quietly and continue with your job. After several minutes, which was definitely longer than you expected from a first time receiver of head, he comes into your mouth, cursing to the high heavens. You swallow the hot liquid, not wanting to leave evidence of the act, and shake your head, still not used to the taste. You lick your lips and look up to see him staring down at you in wonder. You grin at him.

“What now?!” he blurts out. You laugh and his face grows redder than you’ve ever seen it.

“Do you have any condoms?” You ask him, wiping your mouth of any remaining cum.

“What? No,” he sighs looking around hoping one would magically appear.

“Then I think we’re done for tonight,” you said as he nodded understandably. He started to stand up and redress himself. You reached for the side of the couch for the bottle of champagne, which was now considerably less cold than before.

“Fuck, that was amazing,” he admitted as he rezipped his pants.

“Thanks. I noticed,” you grinned, starting to play with the gold foil on the bottle.

“Why did you buy champagne instead of beer?” he asked as he watched you press the bottle against your hip and use your own shirt to loosen the cork. It gently slid out with a slight pop and no overspill.

“Success,” you whispered triumphantly to yourself. You looked back at him, and he raised his eyebrows expectantly. “Because we’re here to celebrate! Plus it’s fancy. Don’t worry, I didn’t spend too much on it,” you said, offering him the first sip. He accepted it, nodding lightly.

“So, uh, are we still friends?’ he asked bluntly, wincing just after he said it. You laughed again, reassuring him that it wasn’t too forward to ask. After all, you were the one to initiate all of this.

“We’re…whatever you want, Ford. Schuyler is only a bus ride away,” you said, taking the bottle from his lips and planting a kiss. He hesitantly pulled away, leaving a smile on your lips.

“Right…only a bus ride away,” he said, taking another sip. He draped his arm around you once again.


End file.
